Scarlet
by SoulEater108
Summary: After makas death soul mourns her only to find out she is all but dead.


The ancient cemetery was quiet, submerged in the thick morning fog. Around the bare trees and broken monuments shone a pale, grey light, the meagre offering of a wintry sun recently roused in the early morning. The grass, embalmed in frost, crackled softly under the feet of the only living thing there: with a creak of the rustling gates, the figure of a man entered and began to walk, carefully, amidst the stones. His age was impossible to decipher, fog or not; his face bowed, bore its lines that had been etched by grief, more than time. His steps faltered and then stopped as his memory cast its wasting spell over seemed to him that once again this place was shrouded in white, and the weight that now sat on his heart once again lay on his knees, in the form of his bride. Once again, his tears mingled with her blood and fell still further, turning silver to scarlet.

An all pervading silence hung in the cold air. The man gasped and fell to his knees with a dull thud, as his body made contact with the snow. She stood her place behind a tree and watched his tall body convulse as he wept. She bided her time, patiently, as she waited for the man to lie still. Her beautiful face contorted into a sinister smile as she smoothed out the white gown witch hung from her body.

It wasn't long before the snow began to fall; little offerings of tranquillity drifting down from the sky. The man had long since settled, and had propped himself against the nearest headstone as small beads of perspiration slid down his face, his sweat almost mocking with the snow, an incongruity on a day such as this, where deathly cold chilled the bones.

She took this as her window of opportunity and advanced from her hiding spot; her bare feet made contact with the frosted grass, yet her expression didn't flinch. She took her time, dancing and tiptoeing between the stones of the dead, as the long train of her dress flowed neatly behind her. When she had reached the clearing where the man sat, she smiled again, her lips curling up with a malicious edge, as evil intent glowed behind her eyes. The woman silently perched herself on the edge of a familiar stone, and sat perfectly motionless staring at him.

The man had made his peace, long ago, with the idea of death, and although his face swiftly drained of any colour it had when he saw her, he wasn't surprised; it had become a common occurrence for her to haunt him in his dreams and instinctively assumed he had fallen asleep. He stared at the holographic projection that seemed to have beamed from his imagination, his mind attacking him with guilt every time he blinked and she remained insight when he opened his eyes again. The man straightened his posture and his eyes seemed glazed over before he closed them tightly, so tight that his eyelids creased. She smiled, her teeth glinting in the weak sunshine, as she watched the man cautiously open his eyes again, more fearfully this time.

He pinched himself. Once. Twice. She was still there even when he looked away then dragged his gaze back to the spot where she lurked. He stood, nervously, falling back against the headstone as his feet struggled to make contact with the ground.

"What do you want from me?!" he screamed at her in exasperation, his voice cracking.

She only smiled in reply, her faux innocence masking her evil plan. He shook his head: No.

"I'm not doing this. I'm going crazy! You're not real!" he mutter, shaking his head with a nervous chuckle, before turning away from the woman that had once been his bride – in a past life he had tried to forget. He began to walk in the opposite direction from her and as he turned, she suddenly appeared in front of him, her dress torn and her hair tangled.

She gazed up at him, her eyes hollow and her face emotionless.

"Your life" she mouthed up at him, before smiling seductively.

He let out a choked gasp, backing away from her as if she had burned him. Her face, her face… was draining of colour and her eyes were becoming glassy. He retched when he looked down at her and saw the dark red blood seeping slowly through the bodice of her gown. He staggered backwards, his feet losing communication with his brain as he tripped over a small white headstone. It was at that point he was sick. He bent at his knees next to her headstone. The blood that fell from her dress began to fall like crimson raindrops, staining the snow around her grave. He looked up at her, desperation leaking from his eyes in the form of tears; he gulped on his own breath as she began to unbutton her silk corset from the front. He held his breath as the gaping wound on her chest spread, blood dripping down her near translucent skin, like ink on paper, blotting the surface, forever…

It wasn't long before the man had become buckled over on the frozen ground, too scared to look at her, too scared to move. He could see the blood on the ground begin to surround him, an angry red, staining the purity of the virgin snow. He began to feel almost warmed by it as it flowed around his legs. She looked down at him, bleeding profusely from various wounds on her delicate neck and body.

He began to feel numb, no longer frightened of this morbid and horrifying situation. his eyes widened slightly as she began to leave – she turned away and the train of her tattered dress fell in formation behind her. He closed his eyes and re-opened them slowly, fear weighing heavily upon him. She was gone. He closed his eyes tightly.

The cemetery was quiet, as the fog in the air began to disperse. The figure of a man lay upon the ground, amidst the stones. His identity would remain unknown in the weeks, moths, years that followed until he was forgotten. His face became ashen and his eyes were closed, creating a permanent darkness. The silver glint of the hilt of a knife glowed between his fingers, as the sun reappeared.

His blood mingled with e the canvas of snow, turning white to scarlet.


End file.
